


The Herald and the Prophet

by Dovahgriin (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, MGiT, Metaknowledge as a superpower, Modern Girl in Thedas, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Swearing, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dovahgriin
Summary: Anna is ripped from her starving-artist lifestyle during a freak storm and launched into a world that isn’t her own. Her knowledge of Thedas may make or break the events to come.[Indefinite hiatus]





	1. Anna

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Herald's Prophet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821765) by [kimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpossible/pseuds/kimpossible). 



> [This](https://dovahgriin.tumblr.com/post/174698319884/nerien-lavellan-rogue-artificer) is Nerien Lavellan, in case y'all are curious.

While she really can’t say why she’s there, Anna does know the ‘how’ of her arrival—a flash of green lightning in the sky that cleaved the heavens in two and sucked her into this god-forsaken land. It is, in all honesty, the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to her, the most ridiculous thing that _will_ ever happen to her. It just _doesn’t_ _happen_ in a normal world; apparently, Anna’s world is no longer normal.

She lands on her hands and knees, sea-softened stones digging into the delicate skin of her palms. There’s shouting around her, ozone alevel around her, the sound of metal whirring through the air, and then all is silent as footsteps crunch over the pebbled beach. Someone kneels down beside her.

“Are you alright?”

She doesn’t look up, shuddering violently.

Farther away, a low voice rumbles in warning, “Boss, she fell out of a rift…”

Another chimes in, this one cultured ( _British? Am I in Britain?_ ), “Be wary, darling. She could be possessed.”

Anna looks up, blinks, then shakes her head. _Not possible, not possible, why am I seeing_ **_them_** _?_ She recoils as the person closest to her reaches out, “Please don’t touch me.” Her ears redden as her voice breaks mid-word. Green energy crackles over the skin of the person, and they withdraw their hand.

“My apologies. How did you come to be here? Were you in the Fade? Are you a spirit?” Their voice is deep—a man, then. Anna squints at him, trying to see his face.

“The… The Fade? Is this some kind of joke?” Silence meets her words. “... Please tell me you’re pulling my leg. I don’t—I can’t—“ _No no no n_ **_onono_ ** _, this can’t be happening, I’m dreaming,_ **_I’m dreaming_** _—_

Her fingers curl around the pebbles beneath her, willing herself to wake up. She remains as she is. _This is no dream_ , Anna realizes. _I’m really here._

As she is coming to this realization, the people around her gather a stone’s throw away and mutter amongst themselves.

“... never seen anything…”

“... magic? But…”

“... fucking demony shit…”

“... impossible…”

“... kill her?...”

“... to Haven…”

“... interrogation…”

She is no longer trembling when the strangers regroup around her. Her eyes, though, are glassy with unshed tears. _They might kill me. I could_ ** _die_** _._ The one who had spoken to her before, the one with the glowing hand— _the Mark, remember the Mark, elven magic,_ **_Solas_ ** —crouches in front of her, careful to keep a decent distance between them.

“My name is Nerien Lavellan,” **_Lavellan_ ** _, an elf, not-Herald_ , “and these are my companions.” He gestures to the figures surrounding the two. “We work for the Inquisition. Do you know of it?”

Anna nods.

“Good. Then you’ll have figured by now that we will have to take you into custody to be questioned, yes?” Another nod. Lavellan pauses, then asks. “Do you have a name we can call you?”

In the background, someone snorts. Lavellan’s lips purse.

“My name is Anna.”

“No surname?”

“You didn’t ask for one.”

Someone— _The Iron Bull_ , Anna recognizes—laughs loudly at that. A tiny grin curves her mouth. Lavellan’s eyes narrow slightly.

“My last name is Davies. Shall I give my middle, as well, Your Worship?” The honorific slips out on accident, and both she and Nerien stiffen as it leaves her lips. _Shit_. The vallaslin on Lavellan’s face dips downward as he scowls and stands.

“Bull, bind her wrists. Madame de Fer, would you check for magic?”

“With pleasure, darling.” Vivienne de Fer steps before Anna as The Iron Bull moves behind her. The mage’s eyes flash briefly as she uses magic to scan Anna over. It feels like a thousand needles pricking her skin, and Anna winces.

Bull binds her arms behind her back, and she then realizes how much bigger he really is than her; one of his hands can hold both of her wrists alone. Vivienne gives Lavellan her report (“She is not a mage, and I sense no other magics around her.”) and Bull keeps one enormous hand on her shoulder as they pick their way along the coastline to the nearest Inquisition camp.

Once there, Lavellan sends a raven off ( _To Haven_ , Anna muses) and explains why they have a bound woman with them to the others waiting at the camp. Anna is delighted to see Varric Tethras among these new-old faces. She is equally delighted when he sits across from her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“So, I hear you fell out of a rift.”

“Yep.”

“... do you know _how_?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to give more than one syllable answers?”

Anna shrugs. Varric gives her a dry look. When she doesn’t give anymore answer to that question, he moves on to more probing queries.

“Where are you from?”

“A world away, I think.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My world is nowhere near here.”

“So, you’re not from Ferelden?”

“No.”

“The Free Marches?”

“No.”

“If you’re from Orlais, you are very good at hiding your accent.”

“I’m not _from_ Orlais, I’m from Earth.”

“Earth. Riiiiiiight. You’re from the earth.”

“Not _the_ earth, _Earth_. The planet.”

“A pla—what?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” _Liar-liar-liar_ , she chants to herself. She almost misses his next question.

“How’d you get here, anyway?”

“I think I was struck by lightning. Maybe. I’m not sure? The sky split in two in my world, then I was falling, then I was here and—oh god, _I don’t know if I can get back,_ **_what if I can’t get back_ **?!” Her shoulders begin to shake as she cries.

“Hey, hey now. It’s not all that bad here.”

She sniffs, “You have _dragons_ , Varric. Dragons don’t _exist_ where I’m from.” As if on cue, the Vinsomer gives an echoing cry, and thunder crashes in the clouds. Varric looks at her, a strange expression on his face.

“How’d you know my name?”

To Anna, it feels like all the blood drains from her face. _What do I say? What do I tell them?_ She is silent for a few seconds before an idea dawns on her.

“I dreamt it.”

 


	2. Nerien

“I dreamt it.”

It’s such a ridiculous notion that Nerien snorts where he stands, startling a scout at the requisitions table. _She_ **_dreamt_ ** _it? Absolute halla shit. Although…_ He shakes his head. This strange woman is an unknown, and for him—for them all, really—unknowns are dangerous.

He moves closer to the two, regardless.

“So you dreamed of me? Hate to break it to you, but I’m—“

“Still not over her.” Nerien is alarmed when Varric goes pale.

“How did you—?”

“Know that? It’s a thing now, I guess. Just like I know about Duke Bastien, and Gatt.” She whimpers, and Nerien sees that Bull’s hand on her shoulder has gone white at the knuckles. He’s surprised to watch Madame de Fer, of all people, coming to the prisoner’s rescue.

“Now, Bull, I’m sure Sister Nightingale will want to be the first to put pressure on this woman.” _Not so much a rescue, after all_ , Lavellan thinks.

The Iron Bull releases his grip on the woman’s shoulder and walks a few paces away. Anna visibly relaxes. When he returns a few minutes later and sits in front of her, she bites her lip and looks at her lap.

“What else do you know?”

“I am not saarebas, if that is what you are asking. You could probably break me as it is already, Ben-Hassrath.” Bull looks vaguely unsettled.

“But what do you _know?_ ”

“I know your name, I know how you saved Krem in the tavern and lost your eye, you don’t like demons and your favorite color _might_ be pink.” Bull grunts. “For the record, The Iron Bull, you are a good man. If I wasn’t in danger of being tortured, you’re my favorite person here, besides Varric.”

“Hm. Good to know, I guess.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in relative silence and Nerien grows bored enough to hunt down some deepstalkers in the surface Thaigs dotting the coast. He is successful, of course. What kind of hunter would he be if he couldn’t bring back at least three carcasses?

He notices Anna watching openly watching him as he skins and guts the creatures, setting aside guts to turn into bowstrings and meat to cook in the campfire. The blood seems to simultaneously fascinate and disgust her. _Typical shem_. Nerien makes an extra mess, just to see what her comfort zone truly is. Anna doesn’t look away. She _does_ turn a bit green.

Someone would have to hold a knife to his throat for him to bring himself to admit it, but the young woman has impressed Nerien.

As night draws near, the camp cook dishes out an unappetizingly grey stew for everyone. Nerien watches the prisoner closely, wondering what she’ll do. Bull is back standing behind her, and reties her wrists so that she can eat without assistance. Anna thanks both the cook and the Qunari, then eats what she is given.

For the most part, the night passes without any issues. The Blades of Hessarian have pledged themselves to his service, and no darkspawn have been sighted recently. The prisoner sleeps in fitful naps, often waking up with a low cry. Nerien almost pities her.  _ Almost. _

The morning comes in the form of dappled sunlight between rain-heavy clouds and a blessedly warm breeze. Varric is in better spirits, it seems, and he engages in conversation with Anna once more. Nerien notices the dwarf doesn’t ask her what she knows of himself. 

“So, Dreamer.”

Anna blinks. “Dreamer?”

“Nickname, you know.”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t expecting a bona fide Tethras nickname.” Varric snorts. “It’s not like my given name is hard to remember or anything.”

“It’ll make it easier for the readers later on. Besides,” he leans towards her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d like to see the Seeker’s face when she meets you.”

Anna pales, and shivers. “No, thank you, Ser Dwarf. I’d rather not have anyone witness my death.”

Varric chuckles. “The Seeker’s not all  _ that _ bad, you know.”

“Says the dwarf she dragged across the Waking Sea,” she sniffs. Varric inclines his head in acknowledgment.

“Anyways, Dreamer. I thought I’d see what you know about Thedas.”

Anna groans, and Nerien can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from his chest. “Not a pop quiz! I didn’t graduate high school to deal with this.”

The author raises an eyebrow at the odd terminology but proceeds to ask her all sorts of questions, the earliest relating to the most well-known facts of the Fourth Blight and the latest regarding Kirkwall and the Conclave. 

She answers them all flawlessly. Nerien starts finding himself believing her which is an alarming prospect, but he has yet to be led wrong by his instincts—they’re what’s kept him alive, after all. He resolves to withhold judgement until she speaks with his advisers.


	3. Chapter 3

Haven is larger than the games depicted. Anna’s thoughts take a turn for the morbid as they pass through the gates of the Fereldan village. _It’ll be a nightmare to evacuate it when Corypheus attacks._ Lavellan had her hands bound before her as they neared Haven. He needed a more permanent guarantee that she wouldn’t try and escape, so he had wrapped one end of a rope around her left wrist and held the other end in his Marked hand.

 _It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to bean me with an arrow by the time I got out of these ropes, anyway,_ she muses bitterly.

Villagers gather to watch them pass. Many of them just watch, but a few actually look at her, not Lavellan, and that has her stiff and awkward and she trips far more than she wants to. Bull follows close behind her, with Varric behind him.

The Chantry is empty but for a few murmuring Sisters hovering around candlelit altars to the Maker’s Bride. Lavellan leads her past them, to the war room. Bull remains on the outside of the room. After some muted conversation, Varric enters with the Herald and the madwoman.

The room is warmer than Anna expects. The map and table take up most of the space, and Anna wonders what the room had been used for before the Conclave. She remains silent as her mind wanders.  
Nerien clears his throat. “Advisers of the Inquisition, this is the woman who fell out of the rift on the Storm Coast.”

Anna blinks and looks up. She first sees Leliana off to her right, shrouded in shadows. The woman’s expression doesn’t change as she looks at Anna. Cullen is scowling between the Nightingale and Josephine Montilyet. No one speaks.  
“Uh, hello? My name’s Anna. Anna Davies. I’m, um, not from Thedas.” She looks helplessly at Varric and Lavellan in turn. What do you want me to say?  
Neither of them give her any starting points.

_Dicks._

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, preparing for the verbal waterfall about to happen, “I was on a walk in my neighborhood and there was a freak storm. The lightning was green of all things, can you imagine? And then the sky fell apart and I got sucked in and for what it’s worth, I didn’t want to get schlooped into another world at all.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I know who you all are and I can tell you things about yourselves that I really shouldn’t know, couldn’t know, unless I was there, but I swear to you I am no spy. I’m the least sneaky person on the whole planet, I think. Would you call Thedas a planet or a continent?” Her pulse thrums like a hummingbird’s as she pauses in her tirade. Leliana looks intrigued, Cullen is visibly alarmed, and Lady Montilyet is scribbling on her little handheld desk. Before Anna can continue, Varric seems to take pity on her.

“If it’s any consolation, Nightingale, Ruffles, Curly,” the author looks at each adviser in turn. “I believe that she’s telling the truth. She’s, uh, told me things that nobody but I know, and Iron Lady confirmed that she’s got no magical talents, aside from this apparent ‘sight’. And her background? That shit is too weird for me to make up.”

Anna practically glows at his endorsement.

“And you didn’t know about the abomination in your midst until it blew the Chantry to high heaven,” Cullen’s scowl dampens it somewhat. Varric frowns. Anna looks back at him with a bittersweet smile. _Cullen’s kind of being a dick._

“Thanks for trying, Varric.”

“Perhaps,” Josephine begins, “it would be prudent to have Lady Davies—“

“I’m not a lady,” Anna injects. “Sorry for interrupting, Lady Montilyet.”

The diplomat waves off the apology. “Already forgotten, Mistress Davies. As I was saying, perhaps it would be prudent to have a guard or two to watch her until we can determine the truth of what she says.”

Nerien grimaces and comes to a conclusion in his mind. He steps forward, next to Anna. “I’ll take her.”

Leliana looks thoughtfully at Lavellan. “You do realize what this means, yes? She will not be permitted to go anywhere without you. Where she goes, you go, Herald.”’

Nerien nods. “Yes, I do. That’s fine.” He grabs Anna by the arm and pulls a knife out. Her eyes go wide and she is suddenly very, very lightheaded. _Oh my god he’s going to kill me. RIP Anna Davies._

Lavellan gives her an odd look as he saws through her bonds. Feeling rushes back into Anna’s fingers and palms, bringing with it the sting of a thousand tiny needles. She hisses and shakes out her hands. The Herald doesn’t say anything more to her, simply guiding her through the door and closing it behind them.


	4. Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is a short one :/ bUt I have another companion chapter that will pick up from when Nerien leaves the cabin coming soon :)

Lavellan leads her to the cabin that every player of Inquisition knows intimately, the Herald’s cabin. It is smaller than Anna remembers, but it is warm and clean, and really, that’s all that matters when you’re in a pseudo-medieval fantasy world with no electricity. The elf has her sits in the only chair while he collapses on the bed.

“So, uh,” Anna scratches the back of her neck. “Not that I’m not grateful, but… what the fuck?”

Nerien glances at her, eyebrow raised. She holds up her hands placatingly. 

“You do know how stupid it is to trust me, right? Or how stupid it  _ seems, _ at least. I’m not Thedosian, I’ve got information no one person should have, and… yeah. Even  _ I _ think it’s stupid to trust me.”

The elf just looks at her. “Are you quite finished, shem?”

“Ah, there’s the derogatory names I was expecting! This I can work with. I think.”

“You are a very strange human.” The statement has Anna giggling madly, remembering the very same words from a time ten years before. Lavellan just rolls his eyes.  _ Yes, yes, I’m crazy. _

“I’ve been told that before.” She pauses, wiping at her eyes. “But seriously, Lavellan, think about the repercussions this might have for the Inquisition. Not everyone will believe that I’m not a demon or spirit or whatever. Oh. I almost forgot — have you gotten any letters from Deshanna yet?”

At the mention of his mentor’s name, Lavellan perks up. “Deshanna sent letters?”

“Well, yeah. I think. Have your advisers said anything? The letters should have arrived by now.” 

Nerien’s expression darkens considerably. “No, they haven’t said anything. Forgive me, but I need to speak with them. Immediately.”

Nerien leaves the cabin shortly after, and Anna isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She manages to sit in one spot for five minutes before she gets jittery, bouncing her right leg up and down. After that, it is only a matter of time before she stands and begins to rummage in the linen drawers. When she grows tired of that, Anna slips out of the cabin and makes a beeline for Varric.

Nobody really notices her, she realizes.  _ A good thing, _ Anna decides. 

Varric nearly jumps out of his skin when Anna appears at his side. “Maker’s balls, Dreamer! Are you  _ trying _ to put me in an early grave?”

Anna recoils, curling into herself. “I’m sorry, ser. I just… the Herald went off to yell at the Big Three and left me alone and I’m pretty sure they didn’t want me to be left alone in case I’m a mage—which I’m  _ not, _ by the way—so I thought I’d find you?” 

Varric rubs a hand over his face. “Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t meant to come across angry. What can I help you with, Dreamer?”

The young woman points at the book in his lap. “I can’t read. Can you teach me?”

Varric, to his credit, doesn’t laugh at her.  He looks thoughtful. “You can’t read our alphabet? Yeah, I’ll teach you. Makes some sense. You probably have different letters, since, you know, you’re not from here.”

Anna nods.

“All right, Dreamer, this is the first letter…”


End file.
